


i need you

by dazaichi



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Death, Drabble, Free! Eternal Summer, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, MakoHaru AU Week, Sad, i wonder what'll become of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:19:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazaichi/pseuds/dazaichi
Summary: short drabble where a dead makoto leaves a broken haru to battle his monsters





	

**Author's Note:**

> this drabble was written when i was inspired from this!!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUq-q_8vYNI

Haru was on the verge of death. His hands frantically gripped the edge of the cliff, this would be his end. His panic rose and rose and rose, along with his pain. His tortured yet motionless body weighed heavier each excruciating passing second. He pressed his palms into the rough crevices of the stone cliff. The cliff itself was unmoving, emotionless, to his efforts. Carmine liquid began seeping through his palms as the fissures turned against him. They stone dug its fractures further into Haru’s palms. Would he be killed by this or the oblivion beneath him? He was tired. So, so tired. His fingers slowly began losing their grip. Fall. Darkness began to enclose him. Fall. The screeches encircling close behind. Fall. Haru stared into the gaping abyss of onyx, to which there was no end…

…and he fell.

He woke with a shudder, tears prickling his feverish face. His eyes bolted open, as he emitted a vicious kick. Thoughts toiled incessantly within his weak consciousness. Sweat framed his features as he immediately loosened his grip upon the worn, grey blanket. It was his mentality that was withering away fastest. He was feeling himself gradually lose to insanity. The blanket held the distinct scent of the sparkly, emerald-eyed boy he cherished so dearly. The scent of endless hours of video games, midnight talks and pool races. The scent of warmth, laughter, acceptance and safety. The scent of home.

The scent was a reminder. An agonising reminder of the way things used to be. When the world was lively and overflowing with colours and beauty. The vibrant colours that once bloomed through his eyes had become bleak and grey. They were washed away so easily. They had become so dark so easily. It was as if someone had smeared a paintbrush over all of them and merged them into one, dull, grey. Yet the scent was also a mirage. How could such a precious thing exist in this cruel, desolate world? 

He clutched the ashen shirt that Makoto used to wear. It was his favourite shirt. Yet, it was the same shirt he wore when he was killed. The shirt only heightened the whispering scent of Makoto, yet Haru wanted to feel pain. He needed the feeling, for it was the only one he felt. Makoto was dead, yet denial tore its way across Haru’s heart. He felt the almost inaudible voice begin its regular taunting. He would never once be able to see the russet haired boy again. The voice slowly became increasingly louder, harshly spitting out its words. Not a second would he be able to play games alongside Makoto. Not a second would he spend being able to smile upon Makoto’s fears. The voice was screaming at this point. Accusations were thrown across the expanse of his mind. Makoto would never achieve his dreams. His whole plan was discarded in a matter of seconds; university, coaching, all his goals became nothing. He would never be able to achieve them, because of Haru.

Haru’s body shook. It shook so violently that his bed let out its familiar sigh. He was so tired. So, so tired. Fast, heated tears escaped and fell upon the wrinkled bedsheets, forming a stain. He clenched his mouth down, muffling the screams that threatened to release. But he had no control over his body, as it shook in an irregular manner as though he was a puppet. It was his fault. His fault that Makoto died. He had done this to himself, and taken out Makoto in the process. 

He began seeing flashbacks to that treacherous day. The day of the car accident. They were on the way to meet their friends. It was blatant that Makoto was exhausted from swim practice that day, but he insisted on meeting up with the rest of the group. A mistake. Haru had insisted on driving that night. Another fatal mistake. Despite Haru’s steadfast concentration on the road, out of nowhere, a vehicle smashed the right side of the car. Haru remembered the way Makoto’s body slowly fell limp, the wounds slowly revealing themselves through the shirt. The way the shine died out of Makoto’s eyes. The way the lone tear slowly escaped them as he bid farewell to Haru. The way Haru shook and shook the body as his own blood began seeping out of the scrapes he was left with. The screams that pierced the dark of the night. The tears that fell upon the wilted body of Makoto, the desperation, the shock, the torture. The useless ambulances and police cars that showed themselves too late.

Haru remembered every single second of it.

He was drowning now. The merciless voice within him had died down but the emotions were too much. He should have been paying more attention. He should have paid heed to his uncertainty and let Makoto rest at home. It was his fault, and now something irreplaceable had been taken from him. He deserved the pain. He deserved it all.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a while ago and felt an impulse to just post it up on here hahaha my poor children  
> hope you enjoyed~


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